


The Road to Haven

by Auriana Valoria (AuriV1)



Series: Herald of Change [6]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Adaar (Dragon Age) Backstory, Canon-Typical Violence, Chantry Issues, Fereldan Culture and Customs, Ferelden (Dragon Age), Gen, Haven (Dragon Age), Lyrium, Mage-Templar War (Dragon Age), Named Adaar (Dragon Age), Orlais (Dragon Age), Orlesian Culture and Customs, Sparring, Tal-Vashoth Culture and Customs, Temple of Sacred Ashes (Dragon Age), Val Royeaux (Dragon Age)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-09
Updated: 2020-08-09
Packaged: 2021-03-06 05:28:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,687
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25808131
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AuriV1/pseuds/Auriana%20Valoria
Summary: Cullen Rutherford leaves Kirkwall behind in the company of Seeker Cassandra Pentaghast, Sister Leliana, Knight-Captain Rylen, and Varric Tethras. Together, they begin the long journey to Haven and take the first steps to establishing the Inquisition.
Series: Herald of Change [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1636348
Comments: 12
Kudos: 12





	1. Chapter 1

_Val Royeaux, the Empire of Orlais; Cassus (Haring), 9:40 Dragon_

Despite the reasonably smooth seas, the voyage to Val Royeaux was anything but pleasant. Unfortunately, Cullen had rediscovered the slight seasickness he had initially experienced sailing from Ferelden to Kirkwall. To make matters worse, the ship’s hold was almost unbearably confined due to the sheer number of passengers crammed aboard. Sleeping and dining quarters were shared between the Seeker soldiers and the Templars Cullen had recruited, while Leliana – whom he learned was Justinia’s Left Hand – and Cassandra had their own private cabin. The two women often disappeared there for extended periods of time, speaking in hushed tones that could not be understood beyond the walls, leaving Cullen wondering what they were planning. Whatever they were doing, they did not offer any explanations, and he, in turn, did not ask any questions. Instead, he spent most of his time during the journey above-decks with Rylen and his men, playing chess and trading stories to pass the time.

Varric, as Cassandra’s prisoner, was restricted to below decks, and he mostly stayed to himself, writing in a thick, leather-bound book whenever Cullen glanced his way. Occasionally, he would insert himself into conversations around the ship in order to try and make acquaintances, but most of the people he approached were not interested in engaging with him. Cullen could only wonder why Cassandra wanted to bring the dwarf along, but he suspected that it had to do with having him within easy reach should something concerning Hawke happen to arise. The Seeker herself kept her distance from Varric and did not interrogate him further, and he, in turn, did not offer anything more regarding the Champion. Though Cassandra was not openly hostile towards Varric, it was obvious that she viewed him with disdain and even suspicion, as she involuntarily curled her lip anytime the dwarf caught her eye.

Two weeks after they first began their journey, and only a week away from the new year, _Her Noble Sacrifice_ docked at the capital of Orlais. It was overcast, tiny snow flurries swirling to the pavement and melting on contact. Despite the dismal atmosphere, however, the gilt roofs of the city still shone brightly, and the tall towers of the Grand Cathedral and the White Spire pierced the grey sky like stone spears. The city itself seemed to sprawl on forever, a patchwork of brightly-colored gables, draped balconies, and bannered turrets. Over the din of city noise, the faint sound of the Chant of Light could be heard being sung in full from the Grand Cathedral.

Cullen pulled his heavy cloak tightly around himself with one hand and hefted his pack over his shoulder with the other as he approached the gangplank. Rylen followed closely behind him, whistling in slight awe as he looked about at the vista before them.

“You ever think you’d find yourself coming here voluntarily, Commander?” the Knight-Captain asked, a puff of vapor in the frigid air following his words.

“No, I did not. And the minute we leave here will not be a moment too soon,” Cullen replied tersely, distaste evident in his tone.

Unfortunately, they would be in the capital at least until the new year. Leliana had mentioned that the crew was running low on essential supplies, and both the travelers and the troops needed to rest and recuperate before the next leg of their journey. This weeklong stay was not something to which Cullen looked forward; he was a Fereldan in Orlesian lands and in the company of a great many Marchers, and both cultures had a volatile history with Orlais. Their only saving grace was that they were with the Chantry, but even that might not stop some nobles from trying to pick a fight with them. Cassandra seemed to have anticipated possible antagonism, and thus she directed the group straight to the Seekers’ headquarters without delay, leading them from the harbor and deeper into the city.

“I’m guessing they don’t like tourists,” Varric remarked as they navigated through a few particularly narrow streets in an obviously upper-class district. Cullen could feel eyes staring at them from behind painted faces and elaborate masks. Ladies shied away from them, turning and hiding behind their fluttering fans. Men watched with an air of disdain, but with the Seeker forces surrounding the traveling party, along with armored Templars in their ranks, they dared do nothing more. A hum of murmuring and hissing whispers followed them like the buzz of gnats.

“Among these dolls, we stick out like a sore thumb,” Rylen added quietly.

Varric chuckled, “We’re bare-faced in the Masked Empire. That tells them all they need to know about us.”

And indeed, the dwarf seemed to be correct. As they followed Cassandra and Leliana through the city, even past lower-class districts and skirting close to the alienage, it was apparent that _everyone_ wore masks, from the lowest servant to the highest noble. Each mask seemed indicative of station and relation, clear to all who looked upon them what family the wearer belonged to or worked for. The masks were more than ornamentation; they served a very clear purpose. Those who did not wear masks were very clearly outside of this distinctly stratified social hierarchy, which meant only a few things – they were ignorant outsiders, challengers of tradition, or both. No doubt their very presence unnerved all who saw them.

When they at last reached the headquarters, it was like a breath of fresh air. Devoid of the trappings of Orlesian society, what lay before them was an enormous fortress that appeared to be nigh impregnable. The high, smooth stone walls were not scalable without siege ladders. The massive gatehouse sported both portcullis and drawbridge over a wide moat. Black banners that hung near the gates and atop the towers, proudly bearing the emblem of the Seeker Order, fluttered lazily in the cold wind. It was an imposing and, perhaps, even threatening structure to behold.

And yet, once inside, they found it surprisingly empty. Cullen surmised that, out of the Seekers that yet remained loyal to the Chantry, most of them must have accompanied Cassandra and Leliana to Kirkwall. This thought caused the corners of Cullen’s mouth to turn downwards as he pressed his lips together. It was a reminder that the Templars were not the only ones reduced to nearly nothing by the rebellion.

Many of those in their company heaved a sigh of relief when the portcullis closed behind them with the slow grinding of gears and clanking of heavy chains, thankful to have thick walls between them and the prying eyes of the Orlesians. No doubt the city was already in a flurry with gossips guessing their purpose for being there. And yet, those people seemed like a world away here, as if the fortress existed in a reality unto itself. It was oddly peaceful, and, like those who called this place home, Cullen found himself eager for rest. The journey was taxing in more ways than one, and the weeks’ worth of recuperation was beginning to look much more attractive.

\-------------------------------------------------------------------

His cheek was incredibly sore.

That was the first thing that registered.

The next thing he became aware of was that he was lying on his stomach on a narrow cot with the blanket half falling off of the bed, his face resting on the back of one hand while the other dangled over the side of the straw mattress. Bright sunlight streamed into the room from the high window, a patch of floor illuminated in a narrow rectangle from the dust-filled beam.

Groaning, Cullen rolled onto his back and slowly sat up, massaging his cheek from where his face had pressed into his knuckles for hours. Blinking a few times, he became aware of the fact that the chamber was already empty of his fellow roommates: Rylen and two Seeker soldiers. Brow furrowing, he came to the conclusion that he must have been more exhausted the night before than he realized. He then slid from the bed and began to dress, quickly pulling on his clothes. It was then he noticed a ready wash basin across the room, and he headed towards it, eager to refresh himself.

But when he passed by the large looking glass that stood along the wall, he halted suddenly in his tracks to observe the stranger looking back at him.

Instead of his usually cleanly-shaven jaw, he wore two weeks’ worth of scruffy beard that aged him almost ten years. An uncut, untamed mass of golden curls, like a living entity unto itself, defiantly demonstrated what happened when he did not keep his hair cut short. Those who did not know him would never be able to guess that this was the reflection of a former Templar commander.

That simply could not stand.

With Rylen and their Seeker comrades out of the room at the moment, Cullen decided to go ahead and commandeer the wash basin, eager to bring some semblance of order to his unkempt appearance. He shaved quickly, after which he already felt much more like his usual self. Then, he produced his ivory comb and began to work at conquering the unruly mop atop his head.

Unfortunately, he was fighting a losing battle. No matter what he attempted to do, it wouldn’t work. He didn’t know why he tried; this was why he had it chopped off all the time. The only way it looked any semblance of professional was when it was nearly non-existent. But the last time he had had his hair cut was long before he had left Kirkwall with Cassandra…

“ ’Air troubles?”

A thick Orlesian accent spoke nearby – one of the Seekers. So engrossed was Cullen in his war with his hair that he did not notice his fellow roommate enter.

“You could say that,” he answered flatly, his nose wrinkling in disgust as he glared at himself in the mirror.

There was the sound of the Seeker rummaging around in his pack for a bit before he sidled up to the commander and proffered a small glass jar.

“ ’Ere. Zis will fix anything.”

Cullen’s brow rose as he slowly took the jar from the Seeker’s hand. “And… what is it?”

The Seeker shrugged indifferently. “No idea. Not sure I _want_ to know. My sister gave it to me once as a gift. Got tired of me zreatening to tear out my ’air by the roots because I ’ated it so much. It worked for mine, so I figure it will ’elp yours. Just don’t use a lot, or it will clump up everywhere and look like a nug tried to eat your ’ead for breakfast.” He then pointed at the jar. “Keep it. It’s extra, anyway. It will last you a year if you use it right.”

At that, the Seeker went back to organizing his personal belongings, leaving Cullen to do with the mysterious jar of stuff as he saw fit. Brow furrowing, the commander examined the container and found himself slightly amused by the elaborately crafted label, which read in swirling script:

_Chevalier Charlente’s Crème Pour Les Cheveux: Taming Wild Tresses Since 8:18 Blessed._

Turning the pot in his hands, the reverse read in much smaller script: _For management of unruly, dry, or damaged hair. Do not ingest. Side effects may include vanity, overconfidence, and irresistibility. Use responsibly._

Rolling his eyes, he resisted the urge to huff “Orlesians” for the sake of his benefactor and tentatively removed the lid. Within the jar was a slightly opaque substance, almost clear. There was only a slight smell of incense, not enough to be offensive. Sighing in resignation, he took a small bit onto his fingers and ran it through his hair. He watched as the crème dissolved with every stroke…

…and, slowly but surely, the curls began loosening.

Careful not to use too much, Cullen added a tiny bit more of the crème and worked from front to back, slowly pulling the substance through each lock from root to tip and watching even more intently as it began to work its magic on his entire head. Instead of a haphazard mess of curls, it was transforming into a cohesive whole that actually looked somewhat manageable…

The Seeker must have noticed the expression on Cullen’s face, as the Orlesian chuckled. “Zat was ze same reaction I ’ad. I guarantee you won’t be able to live without it, now.”

As the crème was worked into his hair, he noticed it stiffened a bit, and so he quickly began to comb it into an actual style. Opting for something simple, he brushed it all back away from his face. His hair was thick enough that it did not lay flat to his head, but rather merely pushed back with a good bit of volume. It took some finesse to combat a contrived appearance, but at last he was able to comb each lock into the rest to where it almost looked natural. So effective was this strange substance that Cullen became slightly suspicious that some sort of blood magic was involved…

Suddenly, there was a low whistle behind him, and Cullen looked over his shoulder to see Rylen grinning at him. “Damn, Commander. You won’t be able to keep the ladies off you, now.”

“That… was not the objective…” his eyes widened at himself in the mirror. He had to admit, it looked rather sharp. And, whether he wanted to acknowledge it or not, the ability to suddenly control something that had been previously unmanageable boosted his self-confidence immensely.

“ ’Course, not,” Rylen teased. “Just a convenient side effect.” The Knight-Captain then added, “By the way… there are lyrium stores for us while we’re here. Might want to stock up now while you can. No telling when we’ll have access to them again.”

That sobered Cullen quickly. He had almost forgotten about his dose of lyrium that morning, and he was close to running out. Rising, he moved to his pack where it lay by his cot and withdrew his kit from it, then frowned as he held the box in his hands for a moment, eyes running over the well-worn wood.

This again.

As he prepared his tincture, his thoughts were dark and bitter. He had left the Order behind in Kirkwall, but _this_ still bound him to it all. He wasn’t a Templar by vocation anymore, but the lyrium still made him one. It gave him all the abilities of one. But it also tied him down with all the rest, too.

He had thought about quitting… just giving it up and never drinking another drop again. But he knew what would happen, then. The withdrawals would set in – symptoms that he knew would, over time, make life itself torture to endure. He had seen what happened to those who had gone only a few days without it. After an extended period of time, some Templars went mad. Others even died from it.

He tilted back his head and downed the draught in one swallow, ignoring the taste, the smell, the electric jolt of it through his system and forcefully jamming the cork back onto the bottle. It would be prudent to stay on it just a bit longer, he thought. Just a bit longer. There was no telling what they would run into on the way to Haven. There could be demons and powerful rebel mages – even abominations – and his abilities would be needed to protect the rest.

It was sound logic, he thought.

But there was a small part of him that knew he was afraid… knew that familiar sensation of dread churning in his stomach at the very idea of abandoning the elixir that gave him strength and kept the pain at bay…

…knew that all the justifications in the world were merely covers for his cowardice.

\-------------------------------------------------------------------

After donning his leather armor, Cullen made his way to the dining hall where his roommates had already grabbed a spot of breakfast – a thick porridge with salted ham strips. The rebellion had thinned the supplies of even the Seeker fortress considerably, and no one had any time to see to the restocking of the larder. He tried to keep his eyes on his food while he ate, but he could not help but notice several of those around him glancing his way now and again. He wasn’t entirely sure why until a female Seeker soldier brushed by his table with a wink.

“Nice hair.”

Clearing his throat, he gave her naught but a curt nod in reply, pretending to have his mouth full so he could not verbally answer her.

Finishing his food quickly, he departed the hall feeling a rising heat in his cheeks and eyes on his back. But as he rounded the corner, immersed fully in his thoughts, he almost bumped right into Cassandra.

“There you are.” She stepped back a bit, both in surprise and to avoid colliding into him. Pausing, she looked him over briefly, and her brows rose. “And… you look quite… _professional_ , Commander.”

“I… um, thank you, Seeker,” he replied awkwardly, not expecting such a simple change in his appearance to have such a drastic effect on the way he was received by… pretty much everyone.

At that, she smiled and nodded. “Come. It is time Leliana and I told you more of our plans. We could not speak of these matters on the ship – but we can now.”

The Seeker then led him through winding halls of the fortress to a small meeting room where a map was laid out on a table, along with several stacks of letters and other correspondence. Leliana sat opposite them as they entered, legs crossed casually, and she nodded to Cullen respectfully when she saw him. It was a dimly-lit chamber with no windows, the only source of light being a few torches along the walls and candles on the table.

When Cassandra shut the door behind him, he glanced between the women, wondering what they would reveal to him at this clandestine meeting. “What is it you wish to discuss with me?”

Leliana leaned forward in her chair. “We want to update you on what is happening and where we see this endeavor ultimately going.”

Cassandra sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose and closing her eyes. “There is so much to tell. It is difficult to find a starting point.”

Her comrade gave him a half-smile as she glanced to her fellow Hand. “Cassandra has already told you the basics, I assume. The Divine foresees the possibility of a resurrected Inquisition.”

“And now that you have joined with us,” the Seeker continued, inclining her head to him, “we have a general to marshal our forces. Sister Leliana is responsible for espionage, and she has already begun building a network of informants in Ferelden and Orlais to serve our cause. However, we still lack a leader and a diplomat, both of which will be needed to properly manage the reborn Inquisition.”

“I already have some ideas regarding the latter,” Leliana replied, laying a hand on a stack of freshly-folded parchment. “I will have some letters sent out tomorrow.”

“Hopefully, that will be resolved soon, then. As for our possible Inquisitor,” Cassandra turned away and began pacing slowly, “we thought it prudent to find someone who was already popular with the people, as well someone who had proven themselves a capable and inspirational leader. It would make the development of such an organization easier for the public to swallow and lessen possible resistance against us.”

“Our first choice was the Hero and Queen of Ferelden,” Leliana elaborated. Staring off into the shadows, she slowly shook her head as she continued, “And yet, for all our efforts, we have not been able to establish contact with her. She has gone missing.”

“King Alistair does not know where she is?” Cullen asked, slightly skeptical that not even the Hero’s husband had an inkling as to her whereabouts.

Leliana shook her head again, letting out an exasperated breath. “No. None of my contacts know where she has gone. I suspect I know what she is doing, something that likely involves the Grey Wardens, but I could not venture to guess where.”

Cassandra turned back towards them. “Then, we tried to find the Champion of Kirkwall, but you know how well that search turned out.”

“And beyond those two,” Leliana added, returning her attention to him, “we do not know of anyone else with the right amount of popularity and skill for the position.”

“Could you not lead the Inquisition, Seeker?” Cullen suggested. After all, she was already the esteemed Hero of Orlais, rescuer of Divine Beatrix. It seemed to him that she fell right into the same category as the Queen and the Champion and could be just as likely a candidate for the job.

Cassandra huffed loudly, and her nose wrinkled in disgust. “I have no _desire_ to. And I am afraid I do not have the charisma that is required of such a leader.”

“Or the patience,” Leliana teased.

Cassandra glared at the Nightingale, who only offered a mischievous smile in reply, before glancing back to Cullen. “We will continue to search for possible candidates, but, in the meantime, we must begin preparations for the establishment of the order.”

“The Divine has already left Val Royeaux on a pilgrimage to the Temple of Sacred Ashes, in Ferelden.” Leliana stood and leaned over the table, pointing to the location on the map. “She wishes to hold the Conclave there in the autumn of next year.”

“The nearby village of Haven will be a suitable base of operations from which we can begin fortifying the area for the arrival of the mage and Templar leaders,” Cassandra moved towards the map and indicated the village near the Temple. “There will also be a great many other representatives across Thedas who come there… those who have an interest in the fates of both organizations and how they will affect the various realms, especially Orlais.”

“There will also no doubt be pilgrims making their way there as well,” Leliana noted, “those who pray for peace and for the Maker’s guidance in this matter.”

“Security must be high a priority, then,” Cullen remarked, “for the Divine as well as for the travelers.”

“That’s where _you_ come in,” Cassandra answered with a nod of confirmation. “We will need well-trained soldiers to maintain order and protect everyone on the way to the Temple. We must also ensure that the Templars and mages cease their fighting in the area and do not endanger anyone. Unfortunately, with most of the Templars having abandoned their duties, Chantry forces are all but nonexistent. Those we do have will be concerned with the protection of the Divine herself.”

“And until the Inquisition is officially established, publically recruiting for such a cause will be all but impossible,” Cullen replied, crossing his arms and shifting his weight from one foot to the other. “Which means we will likely have to rely on mercenaries for manpower.”

“You may find many interested parties right here in Val Royeaux.” Leliana nodded. “I will see what information I can gather for you.”

“We will leave for Haven after the first of the year,” Cassandra continued. “Until then, do as much as you can to ready yourself and your men for travel. With this war still raging, expect rogue Templars and mages to make life miserable on travelers.”

“And bandits,” Leliana added pointedly. “Highwaymen have already been taking advantage of this chaos, looting and pillaging with impunity.”

“Proper preparations will be made,” Cullen answered with a nod. “I will inspect the soldiers this evening and set up regular training routines until we leave. We will not lose our edge while we wait to depart.”

\-------------------------------------------------------------------

Leliana was able to procure much information on the available mercenary companies in the city, of which there were roughly a half-dozen. Out of these, only two caught Cullen’s eye as competent enough for their purposes. One was a standard company of Orlesian sellswords, Les Lames D’Argent, and they appeared to be a professional and capable lot. Many of them were experienced veterans who had been with the company for nearly a decade, although they did have their share of young recruits as well, all looking to take advantage of the recent chaos as much as the bandits they were typically hired to fight.

The other was a group of qunari who called themselves the Valo-Kas.

They were an intimidating bunch and, like the Lames, consisted of veterans ranging from frontline warriors to ranged support. Yet, they seemed entirely different from the qunari who had occupied Kirkwall, as their leader, Shokrakar, made evident.

It was this towering woman who stood before him now, hands behind her back as she explained her company’s history and its talents. She wore a mismatched harness of plate, scale mail, and studded leather, painted in bright hues of orange and green – although half of that paint was flaking and peeling off. Her face was also smeared with the same colors, highlighting her severely angular features. Her snow-white hair was shaven on the left side of her head, the side where one of her horns was broken off near her skull; her other horn curled backwards like a halla’s over the rest of her shoulder-length hair. Her bright yellow eyes were almost unblinking as she spoke, and her words were a fluid mix of the King’s Tongue and terms from her native language.

“…so yeah, that’s all of us. You need muscle or archers, or whatever, we got it. Even got our own saarebas.”

Cullen blinked. “Your own… pardon?”

The qunari’s head cocked curiously, and then an expression of realization swept across her painted features. “Oh. Right. Yeah, you call ’em mages. Adaar’s her name. She picked Asaaranda for herself. But we just call her Saarebas. Old habits die hard.”

At that, Cullen paused. Qunari were going to be difficult to incorporate into the rest of the soldiers all by themselves, but with an apostate among them?

Sensing his hesitation, Shokrakar chuckled. “Yeah, I know what you’re thinking. Truth is, we’re having trouble trusting her, too. Like I said, old habits die hard. Qunari are even more suspicious than you human folk about that sort of thing. But like I told you before, we’re Tal–Vashoth. Meaning all that Qun bullshit doesn’t apply to us. Meaning we’re separating ourselves from it. Voluntarily. So we gotta give her the benefit of the doubt if we want to change, right? Well, at least until she sets one of us on fire…”

He was silent as he thought for a moment. These Tal-Vashoth seemed rather similar to them in circumstance – rebels against the order they had been raised from childhood to support. In fact, Cullen sensed that, if the initial wariness of them could be dissolved, some among their established forces might even find common ground with them, and that would strengthen them all. It would be a difficult task, but between himself, Rylen, and Cassandra’s efforts, surely they could convince these three groups to work together peacefully for the Divine’s cause.

“What conditions do you have?” He asked at length, crossing his arms as he looked up at her; Shokrakar was at least a foot taller than he.

“Conditions?” Shokrakar looked puzzled for a moment, but then she grinned widely. “Only one. Okay, two. One, we get a copy of the contract to review ourselves. And two, don’t try to put us in that hairy eyeball armor. It’s creepy.”

He blinked again. After a few more moments’ pause, he cleared his throat and replied simply, “Right then. Of course. Come with me, and we will get everything set up. Just be warned, not everyone will be happy to have you here.”

Shokrakar smirked. “If anyone was happy to have us anywhere, I’d question my sanity.”

\-------------------------------------------------------------------

_Verimensis (Wintermarch), 9:41 Dragon_

Sweat poured down his back and chest and trickled down his scalp, plastering his hair to his forehead. Clad in only his boots and breeches, weapon and shield in hand, Cullen’s eyes never left his opponent. Not once. A single blink at the wrong moment and the match would be forfeit. He was beginning to wonder why he ever agreed to this in the first place; it had to be the single longest sparring session in which he had ever participated.

The Seeker circled him, looking for a weakness. She, too, was covered in a sheen of sweat, and both of them were breathing hard from exhaustion. It was the only sound he could hear after the storm of violent cracks that echoed throughout the hall – the sharp sound of wood clashing against wood as they parried each other’s practice weapons in rapid succession.

And then they both moved at once, rushing each other. Their shields collided as both refused to yield ground, swords and limbs tangling, until at last they stopped struggling.

“Draw?” she asked, panting the word out.

“Draw,” he agreed with a breathless nod, finally letting down his guard and stepping back from her.

Suddenly, thunderous applause filled the practice hall as the two sparring warriors discarded their weapons and shook hands. Cullen hadn’t even noticed the spectators gathering to watch the match, including Rylen and a few of the mercenaries they had hired.

Cullen moved to a nearby bench to retrieve his waterskin, drinking deeply from it as Cassandra gathered the equipment she had discarded for the training round. Both were too sweaty to put anything back on for the time being, and so they made for the door together with their clothing and armor in their hands, their audience leading the way ahead of them and chattering all the while.

“You fight well, Commander,” Cassandra remarked, giving him a sideways glance as they proceeded down the hall at a leisurely pace. “With each day, I am assured I picked the right person for the job.”

He smiled back at her and inclined his head in appreciation. “Thank you, Seeker. You are a woman of great martial talent, yourself. And if I may be honest, you are a rather frightening opponent.”

She smirked. “I try to be.”

Cullen chuckled. “I am glad that was a mere practice. I pity the person who faces you with real weapons involved.”

“A fight with real weapons would have been much shorter.”

“I believe it.”

“By the way,” Cassandra added, stopping midstride and turning to face him, “the Divine recently inquired about your accommodations and asked if you had everything you needed. I mentioned that you had left most of your equipment behind in Kirkwall. She has commissioned a reputable smith here in Val Royeaux to fashion a proper set of armor for you. Leliana managed to obtain your measurements from the armory records in the White Spire and sent them along with the commission request. It will be shipped to Haven when it is complete.”

Cullen, who had likewise halted in the middle of the corridor, gaped. “But-”

The Seeker shook her head and waved her hand to dismiss any objection that was forming. “There was, of course, no choice in the matter. Most Holy desired it done, and it will be done. I think she saw fit to reward you in some way for your loyalty. And besides,” she poked at the sleeve of his jerkin, “we can’t have the Inquisition’s Commander traipsing around in mere leathers or hand-me-down Seeker armor.”

“Appearances are important,” Leliana’s voice suddenly came from farther down the hall. There was a small smile on her face as she approached them and continued, “As our new diplomat will tell you.”

Cassandra’s brows rose high. “We finally have someone?”

Sister Nightingale nodded, her smile widening. “The one I told you about… Lady Josephine Montilyet of Antiva, formerly the Antivan ambassador to Orlais. She has agreed to join our cause, and she should reach at Haven a few weeks after we do. I have already dispatched a small group of escorts to ensure that her arrival is safe and timely. Once she is there, I am certain that she will be able to communicate with and placate the nobility that gather for the Conclave far better than we.”

“Which will allow us to focus less on their inevitable complaints and more on properly securing the area,” Cullen remarked.

Cassandra snorted. “We will have our hands full with that. I don’t doubt that both the rogue Templars and the rebel mages will cause us no small amount of grief.”

“But,” Cullen replied, “we now have a sizeable force to help with that, and I imagine we will be able to pull in a few more recruits before the time of the Conclave.”

“Then, all that remains is for us to begin setting up defenses at Haven,” Leliana observed, pulling her hands behind her back.

“We will be leaving in a few days’ time.” Cassandra turned her attention to Cullen. “Be sure that your men are ready for travel and prepared for possible conflict. I doubt that we will have a peaceful journey.”

\-------------------------------------------------------------------

_Somewhere near the Imperial Highway, West of Val Royeaux, Orlais_

The frosty winter air was filled with the sound of rattling wheels, clopping and snorting horses, and clanking armor as their company slowly made their way southward from Val Royeaux. They were able to follow the Imperial Highway wherever it was still intact, but traveling proved more problematic in the places where the Tevinter structure had long crumbled to ruin. They frequently had to move to cobble and even dirt side roads, and these routes were far less smooth for the several supply wagons in their convoy. Ice was a persistent problem in areas where the morning sun had yet to warm standing puddles, or where shadows made it impossible for its light to reach.

Cullen shifted his weight in the saddle as his horse plodded down the dirt thoroughfare they now found themselves upon. Despite its rustic simplicity, recalling many similar roads that crisscrossed Ferelden, it was part of a major merchant route through the Orlesian heartlands. Thus, it was wide enough for their company to proceed without setting foot in the brush that bordered the path.

Yet, despite the route being well-traveled by large caravans, it was still very dangerous, as was evident by the carnage they encountered as they rode. They had already passed ruins of several burned-out wagons, the corpses of mercenaries, travelers, mages, and Templars all littering the route. Sparing the time to make pyres where they could, they burned the dead in Andrastian custom to prevent demons from possessing the bodies. It seemed that, outside the great bastions of civilization, everything had fallen into utter bloodthirsty pandemonium, even more so than Cassandra had intimated back in Kirkwall. Many farmsteads they passed were neglected, livestock wandering freely, completely abandoned by the peasantry who had fled the countryside. If the situation remained as it was, then it would spell utter disaster for the following winter, as there would be little to no food left to send to market.

This had to be stopped, and quickly.

“You know, Curly, you really shouldn’t wear such a serious expression all the time. It has to be bad for your health.”

The remark came from Varric, who rode a mule at his side. Sparing him an irritated glance, Cullen retorted with no small amount of annoyance in his tone, “You know, dwarf, you really shouldn’t talk quite so much. I am certain that it is bad for yours.”

“I’ll say,” Cassandra snorted behind them.

Cullen’s thoughts had just returned to the scouts they had sent ahead of them when, suddenly, there was a warning shout from the rear of their convoy. Alarmed, Cullen twisted around to see a horde of bandits erupting from the thick brush around them and descending upon the caravan. Arrows rained out of nowhere, causing the horses to balk and rear in fright.

“Damn it!” Rylen wheeled his own mount around, drawing his sword with an order to his men. “Cut those bastards down!”

The Seekers, Templars, and mercenaries leapt into action as the wagons came to an abrupt halt. The bandits swarmed them, melee fighters encircling them while their archers provided ranged support. In an instant, Cullen knew these were no novice marauders, and that they were likely the reason why the scouts had not reported back.

“Their archers!” he yelled, drawing his blade even as an arrow whistled dangerously close to his head. Most of their number could handle the melee fighters well, but the archers would prove problematic if not taken out of the equation, and quickly.

Spurring his mount forward, he sprang for the nearest bowman, rushing him before he could knock another arrow and striking down the bandit in a single blow, his sword slicing neatly through boiled leather. A mountain of a man charged for his horse with a maul uplifted, but an arrow suddenly burst through the bandit’s throat and he collapsed in the dirt; a quick glance backwards told Cullen it was Leliana’s, the Nightingale felling the marauder from her perch atop a wagon.

And then, his blood felt as though it were on fire.

 _Mages_.

Before the thought had even fully formed, an explosion erupted beneath his mount, throwing him backwards out of the saddle as his horse was incinerated by a fireball. He flipped midair, landing hard on his hands and chest and knocking the wind out of him. The Seeker breastplate Cassandra had given him had protected him from the jagged rock that had landed on, but it was still a painful fall. Despite this, he tightened his grip on his sword and scrambled to his feet in time to notice a deadly pattern of fiery runes tracing themselves out on the ground around him…

Reflexively, he brought his blade up before him, the polished metal reflecting the azure glow in his eyes as he released a cleansing shockwave of power, the magical runes instantly fizzling out with an audible hiss like flames doused by water. This move clearly caught his now-visible opponent by surprise; they had not expected Templar powers from one not garbed in Templar regalia.

Before the mage could gather his power again, Cullen lashed out, this time wreathing his opponent in a shimmering force field that effectively rendered the mage’s powers inert. Panicking, the mage turned to run, but a bolt from Varric’s crossbow struck like a serpent, felling him instantly.

Whirling around, Cullen noted another mage locked in a rapid-fire exchange with the Valo-Kas saarebas, Asaaranda. Fortunately, the deadly duel was ended quickly, as a Templar took advantage of the enemy’s focus upon her fellow mage opponent to strike her down. The smell of singed flesh and fur filled the air from his slain steed, as did the sound of whistling arrows and clashing blades and shields. Ultimately, however, between the efforts of the Templars, the Seeker forces, and the mercenaries, the bandit attack was quickly repelled.

But it was not without cost. One of the caravan drivers and a total of three horses were slain, including his own. Two Seekers were severely wounded, as well as three Orlesian mercenaries and one Starkhaven Templar. When all was clear, Cullen finally sheathed his blade and approached the main bulk of the company, taking deep breaths to subdue the still-simmering lyrium in his veins.

“Agh, what a mess.” Varric replaced his crossbow onto his back and shook his head disgustedly. “Can’t believe anyone would try to attack us… you’d think the big fat eyes on the armor and the Templars among us would be some sort of deterrent for that sort of thing.”

“Perhaps the mages among them made them feel more confident,” Cassandra replied, slightly breathless from exertion, “or perhaps they merely thought they would drive us away from our cargo.”

“Either way,” Varric struggled to calm his dancing mule, “makes you wonder how the Divine got through here untouched.”

Leliana jumped down from where she stood on the seat of the nearest wagon. “Likely because she _is_ the Divine,” she offered. “There is often honor amongst thieves, as it were. Where we might be an acceptable target, for the devout, Divine Justinia herself would not be.”

“Let us hope no one else is fool enough to attack us,” Cullen muttered tersely. Then, signaling his second-in-command, he added, “Rylen! We’re going to need better scouts in greater numbers. Once the wounded are seen to, send them ahead of us and wait for word back before we proceed further. We cannot afford for this to happen again.”

“Aye, Commander.”

Cassandra sighed heavily. “It’s going to be a long trip. I can tell already.”

Pressing his lips together as he felt the lyrium and his adrenaline finally die down, Cullen replied quietly, “So can I.”


	2. Chapter 2

_Haven, Ferelden; Pluitanis (Guardian), 9:41 Dragon_

A month after they began their difficult winter journey through Orlais, the forces of Seeker Pentaghast arrived at the village of Haven. The locals’ usually-lengthy celebration of Wintersend was already long over, the continuous mage-Templar war having drained almost everyone of any festive mood. The residents and pilgrims sheltering in the town welcomed the sight of more Chantry forces, and they could only wonder what the Divine, who had taken up temporary residence at the nearby Temple of Sacred Ashes, was planning…

Once everyone had begun to stable mounts and unpack supplies while waiting for the Seeker to secure some sort of lodging for them all, Cullen broke away from the main group to spend some time to himself; the journey there had set his nerves on edge for the entirety of its duration, and he needed a moment to simply breathe. Looking about, he noticed that a frozen lake lay nearby, a broken pier leading partway over it. It reminded him so much of the lake near his childhood home – a home that was now long destroyed. As he wandered towards it, grasping one of the aged wooden posts of the fishing pier with a thickly-gloved hand, he was plunged headlong into old memories that left him feeling strangely empty.

He inhaled a deep lungful of frigid air and expelled it slowly, letting tension drift away with his misty breath. As his gaze fell upon the ice-cloaked mountains that encircled the valley in which Haven was nestled, his thoughts were bittersweet; this was the first time he had set foot on Fereldan soil in nearly a decade. His eyes slowly traced the jagged peaks, and something in his heart panged. He had never thought to come back here once he left for Kirkwall, and for many years, he was certain that he would never wish to. But standing here, breathing in that familiar, crisp air and feeling the presence of those ancient mountains surrounding him, gave him the strangest sense of peace…

“Andraste’s _ass_ , it’s _freezing_!”

The peace was broken as Rylen’s voice suddenly interrupted his reverie from his left, the direction of the stables; glancing that way, Cullen saw the Knight-Captain tucking his chin into his scarf and wrapping himself tighter into his fur-lined cloak. A look of pure misery was writ on the Marcher’s face as he approached, clouds of white vapor puffing from him with every shivering exhalation. “I don’t see how you Fereldans stand it.”

“You’ll get used to it,” Cullen replied nonchalantly, looking back out over the shimmering expanse of the frozen lake. “Besides, spring is not that far away.”

Rylen snorted, another misty puff following. “Says _you_. The one born and raised on the ass-end of Thedas. Me, I’ll probably turn into an ice statue before spring ever comes _close_ to rearing its head in these Maker-forsaken parts.”

Cullen shook his head and clapped his comrade on the shoulder, moving to leave the pier. Rylen’s presence had returned his thoughts to their preparations, and he gestured to the rocky path that skirted the outer edge of the settlement. “If you are quite finished complaining, Knight-Captain, let’s head towards the Temple. I want to get a good look at the defensibility of the valley before I start arranging patrols.”

“Fine. Let’s get it over with.”

With that, the pair headed down the path to the Temple, thick snow and pebbles crunching underfoot as they followed a winding trail past the village. It wasn’t long before they arrived at a great stone bridge arcing over the frozen stream that fed the lake, snow and ice draped over the cobbles like heavy shawls. Flanked by gatehouses on either end, this bridge was, Cullen deduced, a formidable defense all by itself. From the look of it, it guarded the only traversable way from Haven to the Temple.

As the two men approached, they noticed a pair of Chantry sisters stationed on either side of the entry door, wearing heavier garments for outdoor wear than their usual habits. Both women stood silent watch, waiting for pilgrims who wished to gain access to the bridge. One sister was quite elderly, her figure slightly stooped in her robes. The other was young, perhaps just initiated. When Cullen and Rylen neared, the elder woman held up her gnarled hand to stop their progress.

“This is the Penitents’ Crossing, sers,” she addressed them, her voice surprisingly clear and commanding. “You may not proceed further without shedding your cloaks and furs. You must walk the bridge without them and turn only to the Maker to ease your suffering. If you are true in your devotion to the Maker, then shall your thoughts be purified, and thus, your sins purged.”

The two men exchanged hesitant glances before nodding solemnly.

“As you wish, Sister.”

They removed their cloaks, scarves, and heavy gloves, entrusting them to the priestess who stopped them before beginning their walk across the bridge, the sister herself following close behind them. Here, the wind gusted into the valley, funneled through the pass the bridge partially spanned. Without the extra garments to protect them, the winter gales pierced through their leathers like icepicks, chilling the two to the bone. Despite the shivers that wracked his frame, Cullen was silent, focused only on the path ahead; to his surprise, Rylen did not make a sound, either, perhaps in an attempt to prove that his earlier complaining was not a sign of his lack of fortitude. They squinted against the wind, lips pressed tightly together and fists curled as they strode with purpose towards the opposite end of the bridge.

When at last they made it to the other side, they were given back their clothing by the elder sister, who congratulated them on their success and blessed them before letting them continue on their way.

“Right,” Rylen finally spoke again as he threw his cloak about his shoulders. “Tell me we don’t have to do that every time we come this way.”

Cullen pulled on his gauntlets and glanced backward at the bridge. “I will have a word with the sisters. We do not need our soldiers’ progress inhibited by this ritual, as significant as it is.”

With that brief but intense trial behind them, the two continued their trek through the pass that led to the Temple. More bridges lay ahead, occasionally spanning the stream that continued onward, as well as steep ravines and rocky crags. None were as impressive as the Penitents’ Crossing, but Cullen assessed that each were controllable points; it would be easy to station men at each bridge to guard the way into the valley proper, and rotating patrol routes could be made between each one. Glancing down at the rocky outcroppings, he noted that the natural terrain would do much of the defending for them. The cliffs and ledges would be nigh-impassable, even without the hazards of the current season. With travelers forced to stick with the path that was carved through the mountains, they would not have to worry about bandits or marauders overwhelming their patrols from the flanks… they would have to face them head-on.

At last, after what seemed like hours of walking, the Temple of Sacred Ashes came into view, and what a sight it was.

First found by the Hero of Ferelden, the Temple had been renovated by order of Justinia, and it now stood as a monument to its miraculous discovery and a dedication to the sacrifice of Andraste. With its beautiful, ornately adorned gables and elegant architecture, its ancient façade was a reminder of the foundation of the Chantry and the original purpose of all its Orders. How fitting that the Divine had decided to host the Conclave here, so that such a reminder might be obvious to all who attended.

“Are you going to pay a visit?” Rylen asked at length.

Cullen was silent for a long moment, causing his companion to turn towards him and look at him with curiosity in his dark grey gaze. At last, however, the former replied, “No. I have seen all I need to, as Sister Leliana and Seeker Pentaghast will be handling the security of the Temple of Sacred Ashes themselves. They are Justinia’s Hands, after all. And besides that, I am no longer a Templar. I have no authority there.”

Rylen’s brow furrowed at him briefly as he absorbed his superior’s response, but if he was unconvinced with Cullen’s answer, he did not say. Instead, he gestured to the path behind them and answered simply, “After you, then, Commander.”

They then wordlessly began the trek back to Haven. Cullen knew his reasoning did not seem satisfactory to Rylen. And, indeed, despite the truthfulness of what he had said, it was still merely an excuse. The harsh reality of the matter was that he did not believe himself worthy enough to step within those sacred halls. His past actions in Kirkwall – or the lack thereof – continued to haunt him. After the events in Ferelden and during his tenure in the City of Chains, he feared he had wandered too far off the path of a true Templar, and as such, lost sight of the Maker. He had let Meredith’s paranoia fuel his own convictions… had for too long ignored the plight of innocent mages while focused on tracking down and punishing those who practiced blood magic. It was true that his attitude had changed much in his later years of service in Kirkwall, a change he owed primarily to the efforts of Hawke, but those first ones during which he harbored anger and resentment at every mage for the atrocities committed at Kinloch Hold were ones he felt he had not yet atoned for… and perhaps never could.

He should have known what Meredith truly was. And he would have had he not been so doggedly devoted to the Order – to an ideal that existed only in his mind. He had not seen – did not _want_ to see – the corruption, the madness, until it was too late. Perhaps if he had intervened sooner, this conflict would not have manifested in the way that it had…

According to Hawke, Anders had been a disaster waiting to happen. But Cullen could not help but wonder if he could have done something to prevent the apostate’s desperate act. How much of this war was _his_ fault? Perhaps it was foolish to think such things, but too few were asking themselves the same question, including the very Chantry that had ignored the conditions that had caused such a crisis to begin with.

_Devotion gives one purpose in life. But it can also blind one to truth._

He could not afford to be so blind again.

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In just the span of a week, the pilgrim’s rest of Haven was transformed into a base camp for the Divine’s servants and her hired soldiers. Though a large number of the visitors and residents were happy to have heightened security in such a chaotic time, there were a few among them who were concerned with the cultural makeup of those guarding the valley; Fereldans did not mix well with either Orlesians or qunari. With the presence of the Divine’s Hands, however, there was not much anyone dared to do about it, and so their apprehension at the mercenaries in their midst went largely unvoiced.

That was, until they found out that Cullen was in charge of the security forces assembled in the settlement.

The inner chambers of the Chantry itself had been transformed into a provisional office space from which he, Cassandra, and Leliana made the Divine’s wishes manifest, preparing Haven for the imminent calling of the Conclave. The two Hands trekked frequently to the Temple and back again while he remained in the village itself, taking reports from Rylen, Captain Aldric of the Lames D’Argent, and the Valo-Kas by way of Asaaranda.

It was this last messenger who now stood before his makeshift desk, bringing the latest report from Shokrakar on the state of the immediate surroundings of the Temple.

Asaaranda Adaar was, like Shokrakar, incredibly tall, having to duck to enter the room. Yet, unlike her captain, the young qunari mage was slim in build and possessed more refined features. Both her horns, curled like a ram’s, were still intact, and her shoulder-length, blood-red hair was always neatly combed. As she approached his desk, she gave him a shy smile and silently extended the report to him as she usually did, mottled green eyes avoiding his as she dipped her head out of deference.

“Thank you,” he said, answering her smile with a polite one of his own. Since she had been delivering reports to him, he had noticed that she was a rather nervous creature, not at all sharing in Shokrakar’s almost overbearing confidence. He wondered if this was a result of her treatment among the Valo-Kas, her interactions with the other mercenaries in their employ, or merely a lifetime of being looked upon with suspicion, like most other mages in Thedas. Here in Ferelden, such suspicion would be magnified tenfold, as she was both mage _and_ feared qunari. Fortunately for her, she had not yet been discovered by anyone else to be a mage, but if they ever witnessed her in combat, her cover would be blown. He could only wonder why Shokrakar insisted on using her as a messenger…

With the report successfully delivered, she turned away to leave as quietly as she had entered. Yet Cullen had the sudden instinctive urge to ask, “You haven’t run into any… _trouble_ , have you?”

She halted mid step, whirling back with widened eyes. Whether she was startled at his question or merely the fact that he had addressed her at all, he was unsure. Either way, it was a breath or two before she finally answered him.

“Trouble? N-no… no trouble. N-nothing at all,” her reply was unexpectedly soft and stuttering, her gaze fixated somewhere on the desk, rather than on him. “It’s a long walk, but that’s it. Is that all… ser? Er… that _is_ what I call you, right?”

“That is fine, yes,” he affirmed with a small nod of approval. “It is good to hear that you have not encountered any difficulties. And unless you have anything else for me, that will be all.”

All too eager to depart, the qunari then spun on her heel and vanished out of his office door in the space of a mere second, the door slowly swinging closed behind her. No doubt she wished to return to the comforting presence of the rest of her company before anyone tried anything…

He had not even broken the seal on Shokrakar’s message when a priestess suddenly burst into his office, nervously glancing in the direction Asaaranda had taken before approaching him with a look of stern disapproval on her face. She wore the robes of a Mother, the gold accents glinting in the light of the sconces, and she appeared to have some age on her – if he had to guess, she was somewhere between fifty and sixty years old. She had thin, high eyebrows that had yet to turn grey, a long, slim nose, and a small mouth that was pressed together so tightly it appeared she had no lips at all.

“Ser,” she began tersely, her accent most certainly betraying her as Fereldan. “Is that… _heathen_ one of your soldiers?”

Cullen sighed. He knew this was coming.

“No, Mother,” he replied simply. “However, she _is_ a member of a mercenary company hired at the order of the Divine and thereby under my direction until further notice.”

“I see.” The priestess’s mouth pursed as though she had just bitten a lemon. “And is the Divine aware that you have hired barbarous _heretics_ to guard Her Perfection’s flock? I find it rather _telling_ that those farthest from the Maker’s sight are so easily entrusted with the well-being of his true Children, and I cannot believe that the Divine herself would sanction such a thing.”

His own lips thinned at her question, and he propped his elbows on the desk, peaking his fingers as he met the Mother’s sharp gaze with his own. “With all due respect, Your Reverence, the Most Holy is concerned with the security of those traveling to the Temple of Sacred Ashes, not the political or theological status of those tasked with keeping them safe from harm. These mercenaries were hired for their skill alone, not their religious affiliations or lack thereof.”

The priestess pulled her hands behind her back, hissing in irritation. “Good ser, you _must_ understand that the people are disturbed by these… these… _qunari_ among them. They have told me that they do not feel safe being watched by these heretical foreigners.”

“And who would you have me hire, Mother?” Cullen finally snapped, his voice a low growl. “If you hadn’t noticed, the Templar Order is no longer available and is, in fact, part of the problem that required the hiring of mercenaries to protect pilgrims in the first place.” Leaning back in his chair, he added, “I appreciate your concern, Your Reverence, but nothing will be done on the grounds of fear alone.”

That, he knew, was one of the primary causes of the war, one that the Chantry had either encouraged or turned a blind eye to. He left these particular thoughts unvoiced, however.

His answer caused a sneer to flicker across her countenance. “If any blood of the faithful is spilled by these beastly heathens, I will know who is ultimately responsible, and I will see you brought before the Divine for retribution for your sacrilegious negligence!”

His gaze was unwavering as he answered flatly, “I’m sure you will.”

Practically wriggling with indignation, the priestess then stormed out of his office and slammed the door behind her.

Part of him wondered just how many of “the people” on whose behalf she was speaking, or if it was her sentiments alone she had voiced. He strongly suspected the latter, although he would not be surprised if there were rumblings of dissent anytime Asaaranda made an appearance. He would have to speak with Shokrakar about it; the Lames did not seem too unsettled by the Valo-Kas... perhaps correspondence could go through a member of the Orlesian company instead. His primary concern was that people like the good Mother might provoke the qunari mage into a reaction she could not control, and that would be a bad situation for everyone.

As far as Asaaranda in particular was concerned, he was not certain if he trusted her completely, despite her meek yet earnest nature. She seemed to handle herself well enough under duress when they were attacked by the bandits en route to Haven. On the other hand, her lack of confidence in her interactions with him hinted at potential danger, which was only intensified by the paranoia of the people around her. At the same time, however, he would not act on suspicion alone. He would not become another Meredith.

In any event, the Valo-Kas and the Lames D’Argent would need help, soon. The amount of pilgrims and travelers in would only increase as the weather warmed, and there was only so much that these two companies could handle; though they were both quite competent, their numbers were limited. After studying Shokrakar’s report and setting it aside, Cullen resolved to look to the residents of the village for his first new recruits.

\-------------------------------------------------------------------

That evening, after he had finished an extensive but successful training bout with a handful of new recruits from the settlement, Cassandra caught his attention from the gates with a small wave and gestured for him to follow her. Mopping his brow with a kerchief while jogging up to her, he inquired breathlessly, “What news, Seeker?”

The corner of her mouth pulled into a smile. “There’s something you should see, Commander.”

His brow furrowed, but though he was curious as to what she meant, he said nothing as he followed her through the village. She eventually led him to the small cabin he had been granted to reside in until the Conclave. Her smile widening, she pushed open the door and gestured for him to go inside. He hesitated, his curiosity only increasing, but he did as bade.

Stepping inside, he noticed the difference immediately.

To the left, on the wall near his tiny cot, was something quite tall, draped in a plain white sheet. Glancing back at the Seeker, he noticed she was now pressing her lips together to keep from outright grinning as she leaned against the partition between the bedroom and living area, and he wondered what it was she had done and whether or not he should be concerned…

Moving forward, he carefully grasped the sheet and pulled it away.

“Maker’s _breath_!”

There, arranged perfectly on a wooden stand, was his new armor, commissioned by Divine Justinia herself – something that, in all the activity, he had completely forgotten about.

It was a magnificent harness of silverite, the smooth and polished plates glimmering with a mirror-like sheen in the low light. Reinforced greaves, tassets, gauntlets, spaulders… it was a full armor, much of which was edged with a thin gold trim. Ornaments were sparse, but elegant; a bit of embossing adorned the gorget, while the familiar Sword of Mercy was engraved on each vambrace. The latter nod to his former status as a Templar caused a smirk to tug at his lips, and he wondered if that little inclusion was purposeful on the Divine’s part.

As he inspected the ensemble further, he noted that arming garments had been included, with a sturdy, suede-sleeved gambeson and leather breeches – the former of which included a quilted vest and mail shirt – as well as heavy leather gauntlets and boots. There was a decorative vest and coat of finely woven wool and heavy cotton, both of which were dyed blood-red and embroidered in gold thread. The coat was edged with golden satin, and it sported a rather ostentatious fur collar of varying russet hues. To top it all off, quite literally, was a magnificent helm crafted to resemble the visage of a heraldic lion, the wearer’s face couched in the jaws of the silver beast. The back of the helmet even sported a mane to match the fur collar of the coat. It was this piece in particular that made him glance back at Cassandra with brow furrowed once more.

“A lion? Isn’t that the heraldry of Orlais? The Divine does realize I’m Fereldan, right?”

The Seeker tilted her head. “Lions are not animals exclusively limited to House Valmont. I cannot claim to know the Divine’s reasoning, but perhaps it is meant to reflect your character, rather than a nation or ties to nobility. A lion is courageous… tenacious, even. It is intimidating, striking fear into the hearts of its enemies with its roar. It is also a leader, and a source of inspiration to all those who look upon it… what _you_ will be as our Commander.”

He did not reply as he absorbed her words, letting his eyes travel over the ensemble again. He still could not quite believe it was his and was not quite certain he was worthy of it or its symbolism.

“Who knows,” she added with a light chuckle. “Perhaps you will become a lion to rival that of Orlais. The Lion of Ferelden.”

\-------------------------------------------------------------------

As the days went by and slowly began to warm, signaling the long-anticipated approach of spring, the number of pilgrims and other travelers of all social classes heading to the Temple of Sacred Ashes gradually increased, as was expected. Many used the Divine’s visit to Ferelden as an excuse to finally make a pilgrimage to the remote Temple, as they would not have otherwise risked the treacherous roads and hazardous weather to see it. It was in the midst of winter’s last hurrah – a particularly slushy snow – that one very important traveler finally arrived in Haven.

Cullen was busy examining reports at his desk again. There were disconcerting reports from the Valo-Kas concerning nightly activity close to the Temple of Sacred Ashes. He largely ignored the chatter occurring immediately outside his office as he made notes to talk with the mercenary captains as soon as possible. That was, until there was a brief knock and the door swung open with a loud creak.

“-someone else you should meet.”

Leliana’s voice preceded the entry of herself, Cassandra, and another woman into his office, and Cullen abruptly stood to greet them, straightening the coat of his new armor as he did so. The stranger was shorter than both the Hands, with a rather petite yet full figure. Her complexion was dark, her upswept hair a brown-black and her eyes a glittering hazel in the candlelight. She wore a rather lavish outfit of silk and velveteen, accompanied by a few pieces of sparkling gold jewelry, and Cullen immediately thought that she was a noble dignitary. Indeed, she carried herself with a distinctly noble air – a mixture of poise and grace that came from years of training. She held her traveling cloak folded neatly in her hands, the fabric of which was yet lightly dusted with snow, and she looked up at him with a friendly smile.

“Lady Montilyet, this is Commander Cullen,” Cassandra began, gesturing to him. “He joined with us in Kirkwall, and he is to be our military advisor.” Turning to him, she added, “Commander, this is Lady Josephine Montilyet. You recall Leliana mentioned acquiring an ambassador for our cause?”

He nodded, giving the ambassador a slight bow. “Ah yes, of course. A pleasure to meet you.”

“Likewise, Commander,” she replied with a small curtsy, her voice tinged with a distinct Antivan accent. “I look forward to working with you in the effort to restore peace to Thedas. Sister Leliana has told me much of the Divine’s plan. I can only hope that our tenure together will be productive, and that this chaos is put to rest in short order.”

“That is something we all hope for, Lady Ambassador,” Cassandra remarked, shifting her weight from one foot to the other as she crossed her arms, “but it is also something we fear will not be possible. Hence the need for soldiers to be ready to move at a moment’s notice.” At this, the Seeker gave a slight not of acknowledgment to Cullen.

Taking this as his cue to elaborate, he added, “We have done what we can to ensure that travelers to the Conclave will be safe, but I fear there is still much more to do. The threat of the war spilling into more civilized lands grows by the day, and we will need more forces as the mages and Templars are called together.”

“That is where you can help,” Leliana turned to the ambassador. “We need more sources for soldiers and mercenaries beyond the immediate area. There are only so many volunteers we can recruit from Haven, and with Orlais embroiled in civil war, it is difficult to find competent sellswords who have not yet been hired by either side.”

Josephine slowly nodded, the gears already almost visibly turning. “Yes, I know a few minor nobles who owe me favors. That should be a good start. From there, I can easily look into contacting others who are known for their devotion to the Divine.”

“Good,” Cassandra looked pleased at this response. “Divine Justinia will begin the call for the Conclave at the beginning of next month, and we will need to be ready for the arrival of the mage and Templar leaders. A large part of that will be having enough men to stop any conflicts that might break out.”

“Many Grand Clerics will also be in attendance,” Leliana continued, “as well as their noble supporters. We will need your assistance in accommodating them as well. Neither Haven nor the Temple of Sacred Ashes has an appropriate amount of space for the sheer number of people who plan to come here.”

“I assume you will also be putting me in charge of financial affairs, then?” Josephine inquired.

“That will primarily be the mercenary contracts for now,” Cassandra replied, “and I am sure the Commander would appreciate your taking care of them. But yes, that will also be part of your duties should the Inquisition be formed as we expect.”

“Of course,” Josephine grinned. “It would be no trouble. I will be more than pleased to assist with anything that is within my capabilities.”

Cullen inclined his head to her respectfully. “Your help will be invaluable, I am certain. Sister Leliana has spoken quite highly of you.”

Josephine looked a bit embarrassed at the compliment, as her cheeks tinted a rosy hue, and she glanced between them. “Well… I can only hope I live up to your expectations. But I must admit, I am rather eager for the challenge. I promise you, I will do my very best.”

“That is all we _can_ do,” Cullen replied, giving the Ambassador a grim smile, “and pray that it is enough.”


End file.
